Wednesday, 11 November 2015


My house has numbers
you cannot fathom
Marooned at edge of a city
On the verge of collapse
The cracks get wider
As the 11% coalesce and converge
The veins jut out like a
Badly made old painting
And sure its washed by a sewage river
Far away from
Your picket fence, your
Friendly neighbourhood dog
And air conditioned, 24x7 power backup
And high-speed internet connection
Another ghetto full of spells and curses
For mothers and sisters and often I wish
It would just flow away in the river
Or get swallowed in its own tide
Of ineptitude, when they raise
Six story tall broken dreams on
A 50-square foot plot
I'm not leaving till I
Leave for good
I will not step out of what
I call my home
Until I step away
To a town drenched with tales of my mother
To a city drowned in time
Come see me instead

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